


Mentira Hermosa

by ShinSolo



Category: 30 Seconds to Mars
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 21:05:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinSolo/pseuds/ShinSolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He swallows every drop of you – his tongue licking you clean, his fingers tracing out the words ‘I love you,’ on your lower stomach. And before you can recover from your drug-like, orgasm induced, coma, he is gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mentira Hermosa

“It’s all about trust,” he says as he binds the dark velvet cloth over your eyes. “You trust me, don’t you?”  
  
“More than anything . . .” you respond automatically even though part of you wishes you could take it back and scream at him to untie you, to get away from you.  
  
“Then breathe,” he whispers, his breath ghosting over your skin, his lips pressing against your neck and shoulders. “You’re shaking like a leaf. If you don’t want to do this, just say so. I swear, you’re not going to upset me.”  
  
Your mind screams no, trying to tell you that something was wrong with the entire situation, but for some reason you still do not back out. Instead, you tell him, “No, I trust you. I . . . I just need a cigarette . . . Then I’ll . . . I just . . . I don’t like being – I don’t know – vulnerable? Helpless? Just . . .” – You take a deep breath, your arm reaching out for him, but he had moved away and you could not find him. – “Tomo?”  
  
“I’m here,” he answers, but his voice was far away and you can hear the sound of a zipper followed by the rustling of a bag. And when he returns to your side, he is accompanied by the intoxicating smell of cigarette smoke. “Give me your hand. Be careful or you’ll burn yourself. It’s not as easy when you can’t see it.”  
  
You smile, your hand squeezing his in a silent thank you; and, you cannot even remember the last time a cigarette tasted this good. But the moment he takes it from you and grinds the butt out in the cheap, glass hotel ashtray, your anxiety has already returned.  
  
“Shannon . . . Calm down,” he says, his voice slightly agitated. “It’s only sex. No whips. No wax. No blades. Just sex.”  
  
“Promise?” You ask even though you know the words sound stupid coming from your lips.  
  
“Would I lie to you about something like this?” – His hand runs down your bare chest, hesitating only long enough to untie the drawstring of your pajama pants and push them down off of your hips. – “Kick these off. I’ll be right back.”  
  
The hotel door closes and you are left alone, blindfolded and naked. Your hands move to your eyes, your fingers running over the velvet print, but before you have a chance to remove it, the door opens.  
  
Footsteps approach the bed and the mattress dips, but something is off. Something is different.  
  
“Tomo?” you ask, but the only answer you receive is his lips pressing to yours, a tongue slipping between your lips and into your mouth.  
  
He tastes different, and stubble tickles your face. But even though you find both of those factors strange, you try to convince yourself that everything is fine – that people can taste different from a change of toothpaste or cigarette brand, that you can not remember if Tomo had shaved recently or not.  
  
Hands run over your chest, and the alarm in your head goes off again as you notice that the hands feel smaller than Tomo’s. But before you can push him away, one of those hands wrap around the base of your cock, causing a soft moan to leave your lips.  
  
A kiss is placed to your lower stomach and you feel a soft weight against your hip as he rests his head against you. And for a moment, he remains that way as if he were gathering the courage to progress, his breath ghosting over your skin.  
  
You reach a hand out to him, but he pushes it away. His fingers caress your cock, tracing around the head, measuring its length from base to top. At any other time, such an act would be teasing of the worst kind, but you are too intrigued – too curious about what is happening – to urge him on. Every move he makes could hold the next clue to the puzzle.  
  
By now he has moved closer to your dick, his lips gently brushing over the head before his tongue leaves his mouth, tasting you, contemplating you, slowly drawing you into his mouth. He relaxes around you as he grows used to your size, and it is apparent that this is not his first blowjob.  
  
He handles you like a pro, as if he knows exactly what you want, like he has known your body his entire life.  
  
A low moan slips from your lips as he digs his nails into the flesh of your inner thigh, tugs sharply at your pubic hair, and allows his teeth to gently bite down on the shaft of your dick – fetishes that before now you had believed were shared by no one but yourself.  
  
You cannot help but entangle your fingers in his hair, your head falling back into your pillow, mouth open in a silent scream. His hair is longer than Tomo’s, and even though it has not been washed in a coupled of days, it still slips through your fingers without the slightest hint of a tangle, but you are too lost in the joys of oral sex to fully understand what such a thing could mean.  
  
His hands run up your lower stomach and rest on your hips. A soft – yet vaguely familiar – whimper leaves his lips as he swallows you even deeper. And just like that, you lose it. Your back arches, your lips fall open in a silent scream, and the world explodes behind the velvet cloth that binds you eyes.  
  
He swallows every drop of you – his tongue licking you clean, his fingers tracing out the words ‘I love you,’ on your lower stomach. And before you can recover from your drug-like, orgasm induced, coma, he is gone.  
  
You are faintly aware of footsteps retreating from the bed and the sound of the door opening and closing. But before you have a chance to question what is going on, a mouth closes over yours and you are enveloped in the sweet, nicotine laced, scent of Tomo. Your arms lock around his neck, your hands running up his back, through his short hair, along his stubble free jaw.  
  
Tomo’s fingers untie the knot that binds the blindfold to your eyes and you cant help but blink a few times as your eyes readjust to the light of the room.  
  
“Who was that?” You whisper between Tomo’s kisses, but he only shakes his head and silences your questions with the texture of his lips, the calluses of his fingers, and the taste of his kiss.  
  
He continues to kiss and caress your worries away until you can barely keep your eyes open. But just before sleep can claim you, you notice something that Tomo has kicked off the bed in an attempt to keep secret – a forgotten black fedora, laying helplessly on the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> Written 03/27/2007.


End file.
